


Constants and Variables

by jacksonwng



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Death, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hale Family Feels, M/M, Quantum Mechanics, bioshock infinite au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1468870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksonwng/pseuds/jacksonwng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bring us the boy, and wipe away the debt."</p><p>Mercenary, Derek Hale travels to Beacon Hills, a sanctuary for supernatural creatures, in search of a boy, Stiles Stilinski, kept captive and desperate for escape. Together, they are hunted. Together, they fight. Together, they fall.</p><p>Bioshock Infinite AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halesemissary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halesemissary/gifts).



> Based on the amazing Bioshock Infinite game and [hale-emissary's](http://hales-emissary.tumblr.com) amazing sterek edits ([x](http://hales-emissary.tumblr.com/post/79566854120/bring-us-the-boy-and-wipe-away-the-debt-pt1-pt2))
> 
> If you have any intention of playing the game, this fic will have a lot of spoilers so be warned.
> 
> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own

 

_“Derek, are you afraid of God?”_

_“No. But I’m afraid of you.”_

 

*

 

Derek felt his claws dig into the side of the boat and breathed in shakily through his teeth. Boats. He _hated_ boats. He glared viciously out at the never ending miles of water that surrounded them, and the waves rocked the boat precariously as if in retaliation. Derek pursed his lips to suppress a yelp and closed his eyes briefly, trying desperately to block out the wind and the rain and the fact they had to be miles from land.

Someone cleared their throat in front of him and he cracked one eye open. The woman - Erica, he thought, maybe - watched him, amusement written over her face and he glared darkly, tensing his shoulders and trying to pretend that he wasn’t scared of (a lot of, okay, it’s a lot of) water. She didn’t seem convinced, her lips twisting upwards and she shoved a box in his direction. It was wooden, heavy, and Derek ran his fingers curiously across the golden plaque. DEREK A. HALE, it announced boldly, and he frowned.

“What is this?” he demanded to know.

Erica didn’t answer him and neither did her companion, a man - Isaac, possibly - who continued to gripe on about the rowing.

“So you expect me to shoulder the burden?” he demanded.

“No, but I do expect you to do all the rowing.”

“And why is that?”

“You know I’m against the whole exercise.”

“Rowing?” Isaac sounded indignant.

“Of course not. I suppose that’s wonderful exercise. I’m talking about the entire thought experiment.”

Derek drifted from the conversation then, when his headache grew worse trying to keep up with what they were saying, and focused on the item in his hand. He gave himself a few moments to wonder exactly how they had gotten a hold of this box - he was sure, no he was _positive_ , it would be nothing but ash - and flicked open the golden clasp with as much ease as he had five years ago.

The hinges squeaked when it was opened, and he peered at the contents. A key, some scribbled drawings, coordinates, a postcard of a statue - an angel, wings spread and the sun wrapping around it, illuminating - and a photograph. It was rumbled, the image cracked and the corners curled upwards, and when Derek examined it carefully, he realised it was of a boy. Not a kid, but he probably wasn’t much older than his teens, if that. It was black and white, and a little blurry, but Derek could make out the delicacy of his features - his nose, his eyelashes, his lips, mouth open as if in the middle of speaking - and the moles that added character to his pale skin. There was one that settled just above the uneven collar on his shirt and it tingled at the back of his mind until his head began to pound again. He shook his head, trying to clear it and flipped it over. Elegant scrawl told him to ‘bring the boy to New York, unharmed’ and Derek wondered exactly how much trouble one boy could be.

He shovelled the photo into his pockets with the rest of the objects, one hand reaching to grab the side of the boat whilst the other rubbed at his temple, desperate to soothe. “How much further?” he questioned sharply.

He didn’t receive an answer, but then again, Derek guessed he didn’t need to. Not when he could see the shadow in front of him, the rocks that the ocean swept over as if trying to take it away to their depths, and the light at the top of the lighthouse swung towards them, blinding Derek momentarily before it passed. The boat slowly to a jerky stop at the side of a dock, and Derek eyed the lighthouse suspiciously. It was in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the ocean, and seemingly abandoned. Why was he even here? He turned his gaze to his two guides, who were watching him with interest in their eyes.

Erica leant back and stage whispered, “He’s not getting off.”

Isaac leant forward and responded, “He will...eventually.”

Derek scowled at the obvious dismissal, and stood up shakily on the boat, his hands grabbing at the ladder by the dock to pull himself up. He felt a little better, now that he was on solid ground - well, if you could call it that - and breathed a little easier. He waited for a moment, expecting his guides to join him, and then frowned when they didn’t.

Erica waved at him joyfully as the current began to lead the boat away from the dock, and Isaac let out an irritated grunt as he worked the oars.

“Hey! Is somebody meeting me here?” he called over the rain.

“I would certainly hope so,” Isaac told him.

“It does seem like an awful place to be stranded.”

Derek scowled, eyebrows furrowed. That wasn’t very comforting. Sighing, he adjusted his grip on the box and glanced uncertainly on the lighthouse. He guessed he didn’t really have a choice but to proceed, else he spend the rest of the night standing on the dock until the rain soaked through his shirt and even his werewolf immune system failed him. He treaded carefully, the soles of his shoes slipping on the wet rocks twice before he made it to the foot of the stone staircase, which he took two at a time,  that ran up to the main doors.

A sheet of paper was tacked to the door. It was ripped at the edges and seemed old, older than it should be, and the aggressive scrawl was addressed to him.

“Hale,” he murmured as he read, “Bring us the boy and swipe away the debt. This is your last chance.”

Red was smeared on the corner of the page, and even though the storm would have washed away the scent, Derek knew what it was. Blood. Guilt curled uncomfortably in his stomach, and wondered what would have happened, if the person who this belonged to, would have been saved if he...

Derek straightened his back and forced the thought away. It was that kind of thinking, the self loathing, the blame, the desperation to just forget, that had lead him to this situation in the first place. He couldn’t fall back. He needed to focus. That didn’t stop the tight feeling of trepidation from building in his stomach when he finally knocked on the door, creaking when it opened under Derek’s touch.

“Hello?” he called into the darkness, “It’s Derek Hale, you’re expecting me.”

No reply.

Derek pushed the door open the rest of the way, and peered in warily before he decided that it was safe to enter. It was mostly bare - the walls were lined with all manor of fishing equipment and there was a winding staircase that lead to the next floor. It was still, quiet, and even straining his hearing, Derek could hear nothing except for the wheezing bloating of the old building and the storm raging outside.

The metal rattled under his feet when he ventured up the stairs. He bypassed the second floor all together, pausing to test out the phone that sat on the cluttered desk and frown at the static on the line when he realised it wasn’t working. A bloody hand print made him halt on the stairs on the way up to the third floor and he swallowed. It had been there for a while, a few weeks he guessed. It was then that the smell of decay hit him in a vicious roll and he gagged a little, covering his mouth and pinching his nose to try and stifle the stench. Walking seemed like a chore, filled with the worst kind of anticipation and his lips drew into a grim line when he finally laid eyes on the body.

A bag covered his head, shielding the identity from view, but it was soaked with blood, the wall behind splattered, and the floor covered in it. He was in overalls, and pinned to the front was another note, the same angry style of writing mocking him with the words “Don’t disappoint us”. Derek swallowed and tried his hardest not to breath.

He moved swiftly past the body, refusing to look back, to dwell to longly on the unknown victim, and took the steps two at a time to get to the last floor, outside and Derek took in long gulps of air. It was freezing, and it suddenness would have shocked him if he didn’t want to get the hell of this island as fast as possible. He maneuvered up the last steps and shouted, “Is anyone here?”

Nothing.

The light sat in the glass room, reflecting through the glass as it spun slowly. He frowned confused down at the door. It wasn’t a handle, but bells, each engraved - a key, a bird, a cage - and Derek tested one uncertainly. It rung out loudly in the silence, but nothing changed.

“Huh.”

His eyes narrowed on the images the bells had been marked with. They were familiar. He had definitely seen them before. He tapped the bulge in his pocket and he stopped, thoughtful. Maybe... his hand went to the pocket and let out a triumphant noise when his fingers hooked around the piece of paper. It had just been scribbles before, but now that they had meaning.

“One bird, two key, two cage,” Derek obliged.

There was a tense pause as he waited expectantly for something to happen.

And then everything was red.

Derek scrambled back until his back was pressed against the safety railings, the box clattering at his feet, and his eyes were wide, startled. The noise was loud, deep and rumbling, and the once yellow light was now red and blinking. He couldn’t really be blamed if panic set in, and he wondered what exactly he had done. But then the light disappeared below the floorboards and a chair appeared in its place, a second before the doors opened. Derek took a hesitant step forward. There was just silence now, and it was urging for him to climb into that chair. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but unfortunately, he didn’t think he had much of a choice.

The chair was oddly comfortable, plush and soft to the touch, and his hands tapped awkwardly on the arms, his leg bouncing. The cuffs snapped over, tight and strong, strong enough that he couldn’t break through them when he struggled, and the floor seemed to rise up to cocoon him in, trapping him. There was a hum of an engine beneath him and heat licked at Derek’s legs, and he tensed, stilling and clenching his hands into fists. _No, no, no, no, no, no..._

A woman’s voice, mechanical in its address, filled the container. “Get yourself ready. The bars are for safeguards. Ascension. Ascension in the count of five....the count of four...”

Derek clenched his eyes shut and waited, waited. He felt the rising, the way it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and the way that his stomach rose to his throat and then dropped heavy, like lead. Whistles of wind brushed past his face and the warmth at his feet increased, and his heart pounded in his chest.

“No, no, no, no...” he muttered.

There was a burst of air that jerked him forward and his eyes shot open in surprise and... _whoa_.

 

*

 

Beacon Hills, that’s what Derek had been told when he had uncertainly stopped a stranger to figure it out. They had looked at him like he was crazy for not knowing, and he was sure that he stood out like a sore thumb, but now he knew.

“It’s a safe haven,” the man told him, a dash of pity in his voice, “we’re protected here.”

Derek didn’t ask from what. He had a feeling that he already knew the answer.

This high off the ground, the sun was an itch against his skin but he had gotten used to that feeling and even better at ignoring it. He distracted himself with the scenery. With the towering buildings that floated past. With the fresh air, and the lack of restraint. With the people who smiled welcomingly at him and the kid that came to yip at his ankles, much to the embarrassment of his parents, when they were on their way to a parade.

“What parade?” Derek questioned.

“You must be a new resident,” the women, Jennifer, guessed.

“Every year the council organise a mass of celebration for the anniversary of creation of Beacon Hills. This years supposed to be special though,” Kali added, “20 years today.”

“This has been here for 20 years?” Derek repeated surprised, “How have I never heard of it before?”

“There’s no point in having a safe haven if everyone’s heard about it,” Jennifer winked playfully and Derek smiled sheepishly.

“Mama, Mom, come on,” the little boy, Ennis, whined, and tugged at his mothers’ hands impatiently.

“Sorry, he’s been waiting for this for weeks,” Jennifer apologised and Derek assured them it was fine, waving goodbye.

The statue was huge and towering. From a distance, the wings encircled buildings and the sun caught the material and gave it the appearance of diamonds, or at least something that seemed precious with every sparkle. People stopped and stared, muttering words of awe, and Derek was no exception. Although he appreciated the beauty, he couldn’t help but wonder why this boy would be there? He supposed he had better find out.

Of course, things could never be easy, not for Derek. Not with those signs everywhere. Giant artistic renditions of clawed hands and a triskelion tattoo.

The triskelion meant a lot of things. Alpha, Beta, Omega, usually, but to Derek, it was Past, Present, Future. A mark of all that he had lost and all that he would have to live without. He’d put it where he could see it, where he would never forgot. Never let himself forget.

Derek’s hand clenched into a fist involuntarily, perhaps a little self consciously, and he rubbed his thumb across the image. He glanced around him, eying the people that stopped to watch him and the voices that lowered into whispers.

“Mama, does that man have-”

“Shh, come on darling, we need-”

“But he’s got the-”

“Get him.”

Derek watched claws flick out dangerously at people’s sides and he drew in a long tired sigh. Derek mimicked and let his teeth grow, growling low in his throat. Unfortunately, battle was something that he knew all too well.

 

*

 

Monument Island was abandoned.

Derek could see the equipment that was still running, and the food that people had left unfinished, bites taken from sandwiches and knives and forks scattering around plates. He didn’t relax though. He was still splattered with blood which was drying against his skin. His jaw was stiff from biting attacks, and his shoulder ached from the bullets used against him, soaked in wolfsbane. All he really wanted to do was lay down but everything screamed that it wasn’t safe, and his work ethic told him the best thing to do is to do what he came here to do so he could leave.

His footsteps echoed as he limped his way through the halls. Strange contraptions that he had never seen before trailed electricity into the walls and Derek stepped awkwardly over the wires. It was like a laboratory, he realised. Charts and graphs marked out growth that he didn’t understand, and note paper was spread out across desks. He skim read a few of them. All about one person and his attempted escapes, the people that had been injured during, about visits from the Alpha.

His eyes trailed over the walls, lined with photographs, he realised, of the same person. The same boy. The one that he was here to get. They were like hidden camera shots, blurred and genuinely not good quality. Of eyes and ears and lips, pulled tightly into frowns, of bare shoulders. Derek swallowed uncomfortably. The whole thing made his skin crawl and he picked up his walk as much as possible.

The door at the other side of the lab wheezed as he pushed it open and peered inside.  Small, like a closet, with a chair, a recorder and a huge window. He scanned the room suspiciously, a horrible feeling rising that he knew exactly what this room was for, a moment before he found himself to be right.

A figure danced itself across past the window. A boy, _the_ boy, listening to music, the sounds of which just about drifted into the small room Derek was standing in, dancing with all the power that his long limbs could offer him. He was smiling, not huge but enough to show that at this moment he was content, and his lips moved in time with the words, something Derek found a little distracting. He was pretty, even if he appeared a little gaunt and pale, the black bags under his eyes obvious alongside the mess of his hair.

Something nigged at the back of Derek’s mind. The same one as before, the one that made his head hurt. Something...familiar. Maybe of the situation, maybe it was the boy. There was just...something. The pain in his arm flared, stopping him from reaching out to touch the window, and he pushed that from his mind. He had business to deal with.

The boy moved on, and Derek tried to follow, pushing his way through the next door and following the corridors. Each lead to a different room - the kitchen, the dining room, god, on one occasion the bathroom and Derek arched his shoulders and turned away disgusted - until finally the boy stopped in the library.  It was on the top floor, and Derek had to walk along the balcony on the outside of the statute, the area pelted with the harsh slice of wind, to get to the main door. He closed it against the wind and breathed out shakily. The wind had done nothing to improve how he was feeling.

He took a step and the ground creaked. He froze momentarily and the noise stopped, and he tried again, slower this time.

The ground caved underneath him. Derek shouted out in surprise when he slipped and grabbed onto something as soon as he could. It was the end of a bannister, and he grunted as he tried to pull himself up. He was in all kinds of pain and he wondered whether the wolfsbane would kill him before he completed his job. Eyes moving over the edge of the bannister, Derek saw him.

The boy stood there, a book brandished protectively from his chest, his eyes wide with shock. He supposed it made sense. From what Derek had seen, it didn’t seem as if the poor kid had experienced the presence of another human being for a long time.

Derek tried to smile, weak. “Hey-” he started.

The boy yelped and he threw the book towards him. The corner of the book hit Derek’s forehead and he jerked backwards, his grip on the bannister gone and he was falling.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my lovies! I'm so sorry this has taken so long for me upload, I had to rework out where I was going with this (because if you've played the original game, then you know that relationships and stuff had to be changed) but I've finally figured it out and hopefully I'll be able to get this out a lot more frequently :)
> 
> Beta'd by Shepherd

 

Derek landed with a grunt, back cracking and head aching, and groaned loudly, curling in on himself protectively. He clenched his hands into fists, claws out, realizing with a start at feeling of the sharp pin pricks against his palm. He breathed heavily through his clenched teeth. The injury on his side was already healing – the attacker was a beta, hardly a cause for concern – but the suddenness of his fall had left it twinging. His vision was blurred just a little, but he could see the second book flying towards him.

At least in enough time to dodge it.

It hit the space beside his head with a heavy thump, and Derek growled out a, “Hey!”

“Who the fuck are you?” a voice called from above, a head peering over the top of the balcony, silhouetted against the sun streaming through the hole Derek had made with his descent. A second before another book came flying. Derek slashed at it, feeling strangely satisfied about the way that it split into three and landed with papers scattered around him.

He forced himself to his feet, stumbling a little before righting himself.  He pulled at his wound a little too much, and his hand rubbed at the tender skin.

The fourth book didn’t miss.

The corner caught the space between his eyebrows, and he recoiled, hand automatically moving to press against the point of pain. He snapped the order of, “Stop throwing books!”

“What else am I going to throw?” was the reply.

“Preferably nothing,” Derek snarked.

He heard a laugh. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you, big guy?”

Derek pressed his lips to not reply, closed his eyes and counted to fifteen. And then when he opened them again, he forced his shoulders to relax, forced himself to look approachable – _yeah_ , a part of him snorted, _because that’s a thing that can happen_. He thought about smiling, but he could already hear the amused voice teasing him for looking like a serial killer when he smiled. So he didn’t.

“My name’s Derek, I was sent here for you,” he informed.

There was a long pause, and then the head was back. Derek still couldn’t really see his face, only the smallest hint of outline of a darkened expression, but he wasn’t throwing books so it was considered a partial success.

“The Alpha doesn’t usually send people when he wants to see him,” he stated.

“I’m not with the Alpha,” Derek assured.

“You’re a werewolf, of course you are.”

Derek went to reply, probably something irked about how not all werewolves need an Alpha thank you very much, when there was a screeching. It was sharp and shrill, made him rub at his ears uncomfortably and, perhaps more importantly, it made the boy move.

“You need to go,” he commanded.

Derek frowned. “Not without you.”

There was another sound, more insistent this time. “Yeah, I know jackass, but I’m getting dressed and my pasty white arse isn’t for your eyes so calm your tits!” he shouted in reply to the harsh sound, and there was a long pause. He moved down the stairs two at a time. He didn’t venture close, but out of the sun’s way, Derek could see him properly. He seemed different now, than he had before when he thought no one could see him. He stood taller, his arms stiff at his sides, and he held his head up higher. The expression of enjoyment was gone and replaced with something darker, something wavering with strength that no one as young as he was should have to know, something that made Derek’s stomach hurt to look at.

“You need to leave, now, if He catches you here,” he started the warning and then stopped, swallowed and didn’t finish the sentence. “Go.”

Derek took a large step forward. “Not without you,” he repeated determinedly.

“Look, get your arse caught for all I fucking care,” the boy snapped, “But I’m giving you a change to get to safety.”

“And I’m telling you, you’re coming with me,” Derek responded.

“I may be a _human_ ,” he spat the word out like it was supposed to be an insult to Derek himself, “But I am smart enough to know that if there was a way for me to leave this god forsaken place then I would have, years ago.  But without a key, I’m stuck.”

Derek smirked triumphantly, and reached into his back pocket. He dangled the key and said, “You mean, a key like this?”

The boy’s eyes widened, the key was snatched from between his fingers, and Derek had never seen a look like that on someone’s face. It was earthshakingly disbelieving, his hold gentle as if afraid he would break out. When he spoke again, his voice was shaky and harsh. “Where did you get this?” he demanded.

“Does it matter?” was Derek’s response, “Let’s just go.”

Another screech, loud and warning, and the grip tightened around the key. He seemed at war for a moment, before he said, “We have to hurry”, and headed for the door. Derek breathed out a sigh of relief, _he’s coming, it’s fine, he’s coming_ , and followed behind.

Derek wasn’t sure what he expected when he came here. A kid who had been locked away in a tower for countless years is only something that ever seemed to occur in fairy tales before the dashing hero swooped in to save them. But he wasn’t a knight, fair from it, and this boy, he was far from a damsel in distress. He fumbled with the key, let out a breath when the door clicked open, and snapped something about how humans aren’t weak and feeble when Derek tried to hold open the weighted security door. The words had shocked and amused him a lot more than it should have.

“What’s your name?” he asked quietly.

The boy snorted and gave him a derogatory look over his shoulder. “What? You come here to rescue me and you don’t even know who I am?”

Derek stared back and he sighed, the door thumping heavily against the opposite wall. He paused in the doorway and muttered, “You can call me Stiles.” before he scrambled over the slight step to the outside.

There was that screeching again, inhuman in its rage, and for a moment, Stiles was frozen in fear. The ground shook and Derek had to grab onto Stiles’ arm to keep him from toppling. He tried to ignore the way the boy flinched involuntarily.

“We need to run,” he got out, ripped his limb from Derek’s hold and immediately ran.

It wasn’t hard for Derek to keep up, even though the movement sent aches through him. His ears rang from the noise, _god, what the hell is that?_ And each step was unsteady and with risk of falling as everything shook, everything fell, everything broke.

“What the hell is that thing?” he demanded.

“A prison guard,” Stiles panted back darkly, and ducked his head to avoid a falling beam.

It wasn’t really an answer, not good enough to explain the chaos around them. But Stiles was looking forward with a grim set to his jaw, an expression that Derek recognised from how it mirrored his own, and deduced he wasn’t going to get another answer out of him. So he turned his attention away, and focused on moving forward, moving faster, because they need to get out of the Monument, out of Monument Island, hell out of his whole goddamn impossibility of a city. The faster the better.

The end of the corridor lead to the research rooms Derek had passed through. The glass into the room was cracked, and the camera on the tripod had been knocked over, smashing on impact. Only one way down, the elevator, and he slammed his fist down roughly on the button as if the mere force of it was enough for the machine to understand the urgency. Stiles didn’t seem to care though, he was staring through the glass into the room, destroyed now that everything was falling. The thing that struck Derek is that he didn’t look confused or hurt or surprised. He looked resigned.

“He watched me,” the words were thick but knowing.

“I’m sorry,” Derek wanted to wince at the word choice. So stupid, but what else could he say? There was no way that anyone could be prepared for being faced with this kind of reality.

“Just get me out of here,” Stiles bite out. Derek nodded once, accepting his role.

The elevator doors opened, and then the carriage dropped. The swoosh of hair blew dust and wood into Derek’s face, and yellow eyes blinked through the haze. Another shifter, yes, Derek could tell that, but the smell was off, it was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, made his nose itch and he wanted to stumble away and put as much distance between himself _and whatever the hell_ as possible.

Its mouth opened and shrieked again.

Instincts made him wolf out, made him crouch defensively and roar in reply.

It got closer, and Derek tried to ignore everything that was telling him to flee in favour of the fight.

And then there was a body in the way – Stiles, he realised because who else could it be – tripod folded and held threateningly in his arms.  He rose it over his shoulder and swung. There was a sickening crack, something that made Derek’s ears twitch, and a yelp of surprise, of pain. Stiles did it again, once more, and the tripod came away stained black. Over the cracking, Derek held something fall and the eyes were gone, the dust fading away and settling as much as it could.

Stiles dropped the makeshift weapon and panted. “I’ve…I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted, sniffed and rubbed his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie.

Derek blinked twice, and tried to ignore the slithering in the pit of his stomach. He grunted when he stood up, said something about getting out of here, and then reached for Stiles. The boy flinched, staring at Derek with wide, angry – at Derek yeah, but at himself too – and Derek forced himself to retract his claws before he reached out again. Stiles cautiously let them touch.

The elevator may be gone, but the cord was still there.

 

*

 

When they finally reached the outside world, when feet were on solid ground, Derek sighed in relief. Stiles just breathed. He took the time to check his wounds – completely healed, good – before he let his attention focus on the boy before him. He was quiet, just standing there and staring out at the courtyard with the fountain as a garden feature, at the clouds on the blue sky, at the faint outline of the city beyond. It seemed, almost despite himself, like a look of wonder had taken residence on his features, and everything about it was childlike.

It made Derek uncomfortable.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“I suppose,” Stiles shrugged.

Derek glanced behind him, the angelic form was still standing and trembling in the wind. Looking, it was almost easy to forget what had been inside. Maybe he would have, forgetting things was of course his speciality, but the living proof was standing right in front of him and pretending wasn’t an option. “How long have you been here for?”

Stiles reply was distant, “Too long.”

Derek didn’t pry. He allowed the boy a few moments, dragging out the adjustment of his clothes and the checking of his pockets. It didn’t last that long though, he knew it couldn’t. The amount of trouble that he had gone through to get here was one thing, but the destruction of a national landmark was another. People were going to notice. People would come to see. Derek didn’t want to be around when they did.

“We have to go,” he stated lowly.

Then Stiles turned to look at him. “Where?”

“I have co-ordinates,” Derek answered, and received an unimpressed look in return.

“You don’t know where we’re going?”

“Sorry for not knowing longitudes and latitudes off the top of my head,” he commented snidely.

Stiles scowled and folded his arms across his chest. “Why did you come here, Derek Hale? What do you want?”

Derek took a time to consider how to answer before he did. “Someone sent me for you.”

“Someone? You don’t know who?”

He shrugged. Truth was, he didn’t know. There were the twins, blond and terrifying and a little bit creepy – he kept thinking he could see them, maybe, sometimes in the distance, glancing over his shoulder during a fight, stepping over a fallen enemy and then see flashes and – but they hadn’t exactly been forth coming with information and Derek hadn’t wanted to waste the breath. Now though, under Stiles’ scrutinising gaze, he didn’t like the fool that he felt for not knowing who his employer really was.

Stiles laughed, the sound forced and bitter. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. He spat out the words, “just another pawn” and it shocked Derek. There was such hatred, such distain. Derek wondered, well, many things.

He wanted to say sorry again, but he fought back the urge. It was something that had been allowed to slide by before but Derek doubted that it would know. So he bit his tongue and debated the decision to reach out comfortingly. He tried it, wanted to do something, but Stiles stepped away, evading and hunching his shoulders up to his ears.

“I’ll go wherever you need me to go,” he promised, his voice empty and Derek really didn’t like that, “As long as you get me out of his damned city.”

Glancing around him once, Derek nodded sharply in agreement.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment here or on my [tumblr](http://gladers.co.vu) and I will love you forever <3
> 
> Link to the wonderful playlist that Shepherd made for me ([x](http://8tracks.com/deathorsovngarde/constants-and-variables))


	3. Chapter 3

 

Stiles was unnaturally quiet. In truth, Derek thought he would be grateful for the silence. It made the whole thing much easier on him certainly - he didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want the sob story, just wanted to get in and out and be done with it all. Except he kind of did want to hear it, but he knew what it was like to have others prying into your mess and wanted to avoid that - and if nothing else, Stiles was better than some of the other people he had been hired to find.

Back when he had first started out, there was this girl. Daughter of some rich big wig. Run away from home, of course she had, those types of girls- too much money, daddy issues and not a lick of sense. Her boyfriend, about nine years older, he had disappeared too. The father had come to him, disgruntled and unwilling to listen to the ‘distasteful’ rumours that his daughter had run off with such an unsavory character - he was a chink, Derek thought, from Peking. Derek found them of course, across two state lines. With his sense of smell, it was easy. He would have left her there, she seemed happy enough. She lived in blissful ignorance maybe, but she was happy. But he wasn’t getting paid for her happiness.

And then there was that stint with the Pinkertons. They’d get called in to stop whatever protest was putting a bug up some bureaucrats arse that week, and parents, sometimes the extend family, would come to him. Pay him to make sure their precious sons and daughters were brought home safely. He always got paid less when there were bruises.

But those people, they would kick and scream and beg and generally make a nuisance of themselves. Derek would tell them that it was just business - “make a better offer and I’ll see what I can do”. Eventually, they would resign themselves to their fate. The first girl, she ran away with another man six months after her return; her father never came back to Derek for help. And of course, those kids ended up at other protests, larger than the last. If nothing else, Derek had to admire their strength.

With Stiles though, it was different. It was as if he were already resigned. That didn’t sit comfortably with him. Derek couldn’t be sure why. He hadn’t exactly had a history with compassion. He shouldn’t give a shit.

You don’t give a shit, he told himself vehemently. Maybe if he told himself that enough times it would be true.

It wasn’t just the fact that Stiles kept his mouth shut. He was silent in his steps, his feet barely making a sound on the stone slabs. It made it unnervingly easy for him to sneak up on Derek, which the man certainly didn’t like. He was silent in his presence. Derek hadn’t believed that to be possible, but on more than one occasion, when they had to duck and hide and Derek would momentarily lose track, it would be like a empty space in his system where he would look and find nothing or sniff and no scent except that of the enemies would reach him, and he’d find himself stopping, starting, irritated and confused because how, how had he lost track of that human? And then Stiles would suddenly be behind him and he’d huff out something, a warning, before guards turned to him with eyes glowing blue.

It was a situation they were in now, and Derek attacked with frustration more than anything else. The guard, a beta, only partially wolfed out, snarled and jumped - Derek ducked and caught him in the underside of his belly with clawed hands. The beta whined and Derek’s wolf rumbled in satisfaction at the blood of his enemy sliding down his fingers. It was that feeling that made him wait, just a few seconds, before the claws dragged upwards, cracking ribs and piercing through arteries. The beta cried out again and slumped. Derek let him drop with a thud. He would live, maybe.

Another flung themselves at him and Derek jerked back at the sudden movement, snapping his jaw. The beta didn’t wait though, threw himself forward and forced Derek into a roll of bodies and blood. Teeth gnashed too close to his neck, and he dug his claws deeper into the side of the wolf’s head. It didn’t deter him though, mindlessly working through the pain - and then there was a shadow, blocking out the sun - another guard, Derek had thought, and cursed because there was no way he could fight off two betas this far into bloodlust successfully - and then the beta above him yelped, stopped, fell onto him.

“You’re welcome,” Stiles said, and Derek squinted up at him. He stood above, smile cocky, face smeared with blood. He had a rock in his hand, one side pointed, like a blade and dripping black.

Derek scowled. “I told you to stay back,” he snapped, pushing the body off him roughly and climbing to his feet.

Stiles mirrored his expression. “This is how you treat all your saviours?”

“Saviour?” Derek snorted derogatorily.

His eyes narrowed. “I just stopped you from becoming wolf chow so yeah, I think I’m going to call myself your saviour.”

Derek clenched his hands into fists and pressed in close, threateningly. Stiles didn’t flinch, his expression suddenly blank and unnerving to stare into. It made Derek take strides away from him, four, and turn his back just to feel a little bit more in control. “Next time, just,” he stopped and sighed, “Just do what you’re told.”

“No,” Stiles bit back stubbornly.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Do you want to get out of here alive?” Derek demanded.

“Do you?” Stiles challenged, “Because from my calculations, this is the second time I’ve saved your life. Trust me when I say if you weren’t my way out of here, I wouldn’t even bother. But you are, so I’m not just going to stand around and let your stupid arse die until we are as far away from Beacon Hills as is fucking possible, so deal with it.”

Derek wanted to claw him. Wanted to make him get on his knees, roll onto his back and submit. But Stiles wasn’t a wolf, he was human, didn’t have to listen to him, didn’t want to listen to him. Was going to get himself killed before Derek even collected the money that was owed him (which, considering how much trouble he had found himself in, wasn’t nearly enough).

“I’d heal,” Derek tried again.

“And you’ll heal a lot faster without your jugular ripped out,” Stiles pointed out simply. He took steps closer to Derek, steps that he had to tense in order to stop the urge to step away from, and thrust his makeshift weapon into Derek’s chest. It bit into the skin, and made Derek wince. Stiles smiled too sweetly at him and continued, “Let’s go before more of the K9 Unit shows up.”

Derek’s upper lip curled in unhappiness, but he didn’t comment and followed behind, shoulders tense.

*

Derek squinted, momentarily blinded by the sun. It was brighter here. Personally, Derek had always hated the sun. His eyes were too sensitive and the sphere of burning gas was not exactly sympathetic to that. When it got too sunny as a child, he would stubbornly refuse to leave his room because everything hurt too much. It usually worked, until Laura got it into her mind that what that actually meant is that Derek didn’t have any friends to play with and felt lonely, and so it became her personal mission to get him out - forcibly if she had to - and drag him to the lake.

Although unhappy about that time, he didn’t regret it. The water was always cool against his heated skin, and he could sit in the shade if he wanted to. He wasn’t alone there, so Laura stopped bugging him and kept sending him these stupid smug looks that made him flush and glare warnings at her because what if Zemy saw? The name struck a chord and Derek pointedly ignored it. He lied to himself when he claimed it would be thought about later, after he had figured exactly why there was a beach on a floating city.

It was practically deserted, but not quite. There was still the scatterings of people, determined to have a good day out despite everything. Derek made sure they were standing downwind of them. It wasn’t a perfect system but that best that could be done.

Derek itched to leave such open fields, but he had seen Stiles’ face before he had stumbled across the sand and towards the water. It was wide open and awed and once again, Derek wondered how long Stiles had been trapped inside. How long had it been since he saw the sky or the sea? Too long, he would wager. He had a job to do, yes, but he couldn’t remain heartless to this kind of suffering. So he was stubbornly silent, only grunting to drew Stiles’ attention and guide him away from where they could so easily be seen and into a curved alcove behind an abandoned pretzel stand.

Stiles was paddling, had kicked his shoes off and crouched in the clam lapping of waves. He was careful, controlled in the way he cupped the water, brought it to his skin and let it fall, and rubbed at it harder to shift the stains. The clear water diluted pink.

“You should do this too,” he muttered, but he didn’t look up, “You’re worse off than me.”

Derek felt the urge to refuse but with no real reason as to why he should, he struggled through the thick sand and mimicked Stiles’ position. He had none of the boy’s care when he let the blood wash away, and pretended that he didn’t notice that he was being watched.

“You haven’t asked why this is here,” Stiles commented.

“That’s because I don’t care,” Derek retorted.

“Yes you do,” was his answer, and he looked up to glare suspicious. Stiles met his stare evenly and waited until Derek looked away. He huffed heavily through his nose and then gestured for Stiles to continue, if he must. There was a long silence, and Derek thought perhaps he wouldn’t get a reply, felt a little ruffled at the edges with wounded pride. He scowled at his reflection.

“It’s supposed to bring peace and prosperity,” Stiles finally started, “Reyes and Lahey Co. claim that having leisure time was essential to keep the natives happy. And to keep everyone safe. If they don’t have to venture below, then they can’t get hurt. Can’t get caught in all the troubles that humanity is supposed to be responsible for. It’s actually rather interesting, how they got this system to work...”

Derek tuned out most of what happened next, not through choice but through lack of understanding and awe. The words, so much science and knowledge and intelligence, tumbled over the boy’s lips. They seemed almost recited, although edged with an eagerness that Derek had yet to see Stiles exhibit before this point. His hands began to move, gained momentum and grandeur the more excited he became. Derek was pretty sure he was smiling.

Stiles stopped suddenly, jaw shutting with an audible click. He pressed them together tightly and then ducked his head. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t be,” Derek replied automatically. Stiles didn’t say anything in reply and Derek wondered whether he should have spoken in the first place. His stomach churned uncomfortably and personally, he didn’t really want to place why he felt like this. It wouldn’t mean anything good.

He stood up, turned his back to the sun and said, “We should go.”

“Times a-wasting,” Stiles added, a mocking singing tune to his voice. Derek glared at the cart’s wheels.

Stiles had only taken a few steps from the water when there was a sharp sound of static.  It made Derek jump, his shoulders hunching, ears twitching at the strain they felt. All too soon a voice filled the peacefulness. It was deep and gravelled and the power it held made Derek want to bow and submit. He steeled against that urge rather violently, digging the edges of his claws into his palms as an anchor.

“Attention Beacon Hills citizens, there is grave news to be imparted upon you. Our greatest fears have come true. The False Alpha,” he snarled the words, “is among us. He has killed many of our numbers, good wolves. And now, he has done even worse. He took our Anchor. I repeat, he has our Anchor.” The word wavered, like it was a struggle from his very soul to get out.

“Anchor?” Derek repeated, eyebrows furrowing. It wasn’t that hard to connect the dots, and he turned to face Stiles. The boy had frozen in spot, his expression wide and vulnerable in a way that he had yet to let Derek see. It shocked him, hit him hard like a blow to the chest, and he rocked back on his heels.

“Stiles?” he whispered and took a step closer.

Stiles’ eyes flicked to him quickly and he stopped shortly at what he found there. Terror.

Words followed, the repeating of instructions, the retelling of news, the command of an Alpha, but Derek had mostly tuned it out in favour of worrying about his charge. He held up his hands in submission and tried again, another step, the repeating of his name.

“He’s so mad,” Stiles murmured the reply. And then he laughed, the sound ripped so raw from his chest that it sounded like it hurt, and it had Derek tensing.  Stiles slammed a hand over his mouth, muffled the sound, and his shoulders shook. His eyes were damp, but Derek was sure he wasn’t crying. He wasn’t sure that laughing was an entirely sane response either.

He had to sit down, brace himself on the sand and shudder in breathes as his laughter wheezed. “He’s so mad,” he said again, and again and again and again. The hand lowered and Stiles beamed at him, all teeth and sick pleasure. It made Derek’s skin crawl.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A playlist was made by [lauren](http://queenlutece.tumblr.com) for this fic and it's honestly amazing. It was a great inspiration for this fic. Check it out [here](http://8tracks.com/deathorsovngarde/constants-and-variables) and give her some love!
> 
> Comments make me write faster, so leave them here or on my [tumblr](http://gladers.co.vu/talk) :)


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